


Appendicitis

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Foggy gets sick and Matt falls apart, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Self-Flagellation, college matt/foggy, mention of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:56:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy needs to get his appendix out after finals. Matt hates hospitals but refuses to leave Foggy there alone. General anxiety ensues.<br/>Mrs. Nelson is based on my own worrisome mother. I'm pretty sure she's out of character in terms of the comics but this is the show and I took liberties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appendicitis

Matt awoke at noon the Sunday after finals week still exhausted down to his bones and with the perverse feeling that something was very wrong. He often woke up with at least a vague sense of dread, as if the world had somehow crashed down around him when he slept, but as his body slowly came to one muscle group at a time he realized that this time his fear was not unfounded. Something was definitely wrong.

For starters, the room was hot. It was fifteen degrees outside, not unusual for the dead of winter in Hell’s Kitchen, but Matt’s legs stuck to his sheets as he untangled himself and an uncomfortable clamminess clung to the backs of his knees and under his arms. He sat up and ran both hands through his dirty hair, deciding that a shower was first on the agenda after the agonizing week and subsequent partying. His stomach twinged at the memory, caught between nausea from drinking and hunger from his Spartan week of studying.

 _Shower, then breakfast_ , Matt thought, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. He tapped his clock to hear the time and once its shrill voice responded, a groan came from the opposite bed.

“Foggy?” Maybe that’s why the room was so hot. Had Foggy gotten cold during the night? Matt didn’t recall getting up to adjust the temperature. Another groan came from Foggy’s bed.

“You okay?” Matt asked as he got up to turn the heat down. “It’s like a sauna in here.”

“Got cold,” Foggy croaked and Matt’s chest tightened. There was a concentration of wet heat hovering around Foggy’s bed. That couldn’t be good.

“Foggy?” Matt sat down on the corner of Foggy’s bed and reached out to touch the curled up lump under the covers, but it squirmed away. “You feeling okay?” Everything about this felt wrong. The thick, sour smell of illness saturated the bedsheets and the way Foggy was bunched tightly under the covers indicated that he was shielding a part of his body that hurt.

“Just a little hungover I guess.” Foggy sounded hoarse, as if he’d been screaming.

“You don’t sound hungover. You sound sick.”

“If I’m sick then you need to go back to your side. I don’t want you to catch it.”

“So you _aren’t_ feeling well?”

Foggy moaned. “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m cold. My stomach hurts.”

Matt reached over, pushing back the comforter until his fingers found the back of Foggy’s neck. “You have a fever.”

Foggy shifted, his pulse beating heavy and sluggish under Matt’s hand. “I think I’m dying.”

Matt’s stomach twisted. “Please don’t die.”

“No promises. God, maybe I got food poisoning or something.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“My stomach. Over to the right, down low.”

“Can I…?” Matt moved his hand down the length of Foggy’s back, heat radiating into his fingertips until he reached the offending area. Foggy’s abdomen was swollen, pulsing in time with his heart, and he gasped when Matt applied pressure.

“Fuck, Matt! Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t feel like your stomach though. I think it’s your appendix.”

“How could you possible know that?” Foggy paused for breath. Matt shrugged.

“Educated guess?”

Foggy groaned again and ran his own fingers over his middle, wincing. “God I hope you’re wrong. I’m really not in the mood for major surgery.”

“It’s routine.” In fact, Matt had no idea what it was like to have your appendix out. The whole concept of vestigial organs was frustrating to begin with and he’d pretty much decided against all surgeries unless someone dragged him into the OR by his hair.

“Yeah and it requires like a month of recovery time.”

“You’re going home for break, remember? You’ll have lots of time to rest.”

“Correction: _we’re_ going home for break. And are you trying to get me to go to the doctor or something? What have you done with Matt?”

Matt shrugged again. “I just don’t want you to be in pain, that’s all.”

“Are you mother henning me, Murdock?”

“You always do it to me!”

“Yeah, because you let yourself get so bad that I find you passed out at your desk and have to rush you to the hospital to make sure you don’t drown in your own lung fluid.”

Matt wrinkled his nose. “You make it sound so serious.”

“You didn’t wake up for twenty-two hours! And you sounded like you were dying for most of them. It was not the most glorious experience.”

Matt didn’t remember much of that hospital visit. His classes had been especially taxing and because he didn’t have time to take off, he ignored the persistent cough and tightness in his chest until it laid him flat for a week. Foggy nearly strangled him when he came to, the tubes protruding from his mouth and nose the only things keeping Matt from arguing back.

“Maybe you need mother henning,” Matt said and Foggy rolled his eyes.

“I am constantly amazed by your concern. Also I just rolled my eyes. Could you please get me some Tylenol?”

Matt obeyed, feeling for the distinctive shape of the bottle. He filled a glass with water from the tap and brought it to Foggy, who was struggling to sit up.

“Christ, this hurts. Thank god we’re finished with exams.”

“Mhm.” Matt couldn’t ignore the fever heat radiating from Foggy’s body in waves, his friend’s heartbeat slow and painful. “You feel really warm.”

“You’re not even touching me.”

“I can feel it from here.”

“That’s impossible. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll see a doctor if it gets any worse, okay?”

“Okay.” Thank God Foggy wasn’t as stubborn as Matt. His own near-pathological fear of hospitals would probably end up killing him, but Foggy didn’t need to know that. “You want me to get you some breakfast?”

“No.” Foggy sank against his pillows with a sigh, his hands still guarding the knot of pain in his stomach. “Maybe later, okay? But if you’re hungry, you should eat.”

“I don’t want to leave you by yourself.”

“Matt, it’s fine. Go feed yourself. You subsisted on like one box of granola bars last week.”

Matt made a little noise in the back of his throat before giving in. “All right. I’ll be right back.”

Things were worse when Matt returned with breakfast, half a bagel hanging from his mouth. He could feel it before Foggy called for him from the bathroom, before he even opened the door. The smell of illness was stronger, turning his stomach, and he had to swallow around the mouthful of bagel to keep from gagging.

“Matt…” His name was wrapped around a sob, choked out around heavy gasps for air, and Matt set the bag down on the floor before entering the bathroom. Foggy was curled up in the corner against the shower, clutching his stomach so tightly Matt could hear his muscles straining. He knelt next to his friend and put the back of his hand to Foggy’s face. The fever was worse.

“I got too hot. Came in here to try to cool down.” Foggy’s cheeks were slick with tears.

“Hospital?” Matt asked.

Foggy swallowed. “Hospital.”

The bus ride to Metro-General was the longest of Matt’s life. After trying to get Foggy into as many layers as possible, he’d nearly carried him to the bus station and sat with Foggy shivering against his shoulder for fifteen minutes before the bus came. Foggy was still trembling when they reached the hospital and Matt was so nervous that he could feel his heart pulsing in places it definitely wasn’t supposed to pulse.

 _It’s okay. This is for Foggy. He would do it for you._ But as soon as they’d entered the waiting room, the smell of plastic and urine thinly disguised with bleach made him want to sprint in the opposite direction as fast as he could. He could hear people breathing around him and in the rooms beyond the double doors at the back of the waiting area, could hear heartbeats sputter amidst the clamor of machines and people. His lungs crinkled like plastic bags in his chest.

“Matt?” Foggy clung to his jacket, burying his face in Matt’s shoulder. “Matt, I really need to sit down.”

Foggy was grounding him. Foggy was keeping him from fainting or losing himself completely in a panic attack. Foggy was holding him up as much as he was Foggy.

“Okay,” Matt said, hyperaware of how shaky his voice was, and he helped Foggy into one of the folding chairs before retrieving a clipboard of paperwork from the front desk. The room was full for a Sunday afternoon, and Matt realized with a rush of guilt that he’d slept through Mass. Fuck.

“Did you get a pen?” Foggy asked when Matt returned and sat down in the chair next to him.

“Yeah. I don’t know if I can fill this out for you.”

To Matt’s surprise, Foggy let out a strangled laugh. “No, no, it’s okay. I can do it. I’m not that bad.” He took the pen and Matt listened to it scratch against the paper for a moment before Foggy spoke up again.

“After they get me in, you should go home, okay?”

“What?”

“I know how you feel about hospitals. I don’t want this to trigger you.”

The wave of guilt worsened. “I’m fine, Foggy. This isn’t about me.”

Foggy made a noise of disbelief. “You barely slept the whole time we were here last semester. I know how bad hospitals are for you. I’ll call my mom and she’ll come down and get me.”

“You mean after you have major surgery? No. I’m staying with you.”

“Matt…”

“I’m not leaving you here. You’re stuck with me.” Matt set his jaw, swallowing the rising panic that came with his decision. His body was screaming for him to leave, to get away from the stink of dying people and linoleum, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Foggy here. He had to tough it out.

An hour later, one of the nurses called Foggy’s name and Matt helped him to his feet, where he’d been dozing against Matt’s shoulder in an attempt to ignore the pain. Matt curled himself into a chair in the scant room they’d been given, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was attempting to crawl up his esophagus while Foggy squirmed out of his clothes.

“I’m really glad you can’t see me right now,” Foggy said once he’d settled into the bed at the center of the room, the sticky heat of his body making Matt’s skin crawl. “I must look pathetic."

“You’re allowed to.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“I think I might be a little hungover.”

“Mhm.” Foggy didn’t sound convinced. “I probably should call my mom anyway. She’ll freak if she realizes I went to the hospital without telling her. And besides, she was supposed to pick us up tonight. Might just be a slight detour.”

“She was supposed to pick _you_ up.”

“For the last time, Murdock, you’re staying at my place. I’m not leaving you alone in god knows where you go for a month. Plus my mom is dying to see you.” He put on an exaggerated Irish accent. “’How is Matty? Did you give him those socks I found? When are you two coming home? I miss my boys.’”

Matt laughed in spite of himself. “Your mother doesn’t sound anything like that.”

“She does when you’re not around. Could you please grab me my phone? It’s on the counter next to you in my jacket pocket and I really don’t feel like getting up.”

Mrs. Nelson picked up after the fourth ring. “Franklin?”

“Ma? It’s me. Yeah. Hey, listen. Don’t freak out, but I’m in the hospital right now.”

Foggy’s voice was then drowned out by Mrs. Nelson’s sudden onslaught of words.

“Ma. Ma, calm down. Yes, I’m okay. I just got in. I’m seeing the doctor in a minute. Ma. Ma, it’s okay. Yes, Matt’s here. He’s okay too. It’s just… Mom, calm down. It’s just my stomach. I think it’s my appendix or something. No. No, we just got here. Metro-General. I don’t know if I’ll have to get it out. No, look. I just wanted to let you know in case I need a ride back tonight.” Matt could feel Foggy looking at him. “No, I know he doesn’t like hospitals. I told him he could go home he just… Ma. I’m a grown man, I think I can handle… Okay, Ma. Okay. I’ll see you then. Okay. Love you. I love you too. Okay. Bye.”  Foggy hung up the phone and sighed. “Jesus Christ. She’s coming down here.”

“Now?”

“There’s no reasoning with her. She doesn’t want us to be here by ourselves.”

“That’s nice of her.”

Foggy snorted. “Did I sound like I was stricken down with the plague? Because she seemed to think so.”

“A little bit.”

He snorted again. “I’m surrounded by hens.”

This made Matt laugh a little, even though his stomach was trying to fight its way out of his body. Foggy’s mother was a tiny, worrisome Irish woman who cooked like an angel and referred to Matt as her second son. Maybe he’d feel better if she was there with him.

One of the orderlies came in after a short while and, after taking Foggy’s temperature, whisked away and returned with a tray full of needles. The metallic smell made Matt’s stomach twist.

“You’ve got a fever of 102,” she said. “We need to get that down before we can do anything else.”

Matt could feel Foggy’s heart spike as the orderly searched for a vein to insert the IV and he moved his chair closer, tasting pennies mixed with panic. _Don’t get sick, don’t get sick. It’s okay._

“Matt?” Foggy’s hand found Matt’s and he squeezed Matt’s fingers as the needle went in. For once, Matt was glad he couldn’t see what was happening. He could feel Foggy’s heartbeat pulsing in his fingertips, in the small of his wrist, and once the IV was in, he couldn’t stop holding his friend’s hand.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Foggy said once the nurse left.

“You don’t have to reassure me. I’m the one who should be reassuring you.”

“I can tell you don’t want to be here. You’re grey, Matt. I can feel your hands shaking.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t even in the same universe as fine. He swallowed a mouthful of bile and tried to force down the panic threatening to turn his stomach inside out.

“Matt…”

“I’m fine, Foggy. Really. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, you would. Because you’re stubborn as hell.”

Matt swallowed thickly. “Not this stubborn. I’m okay.”

Foggy made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, running his index finger along the inside of Matt’s wrist. “Whatever you say, buddy.”

Matt didn’t want to let go of his hand. He didn’t want to let go when the orderly came back with a doctor and examined Foggy’s abdomen. He didn’t want to let go when they brought in the order for a CT. He really didn’t want to let go when they came to take Foggy to the examination room. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he released his iron grip on Foggy’s fingers, but the thought of it made his insides sour.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Foggy said, squeezing Matt’s hand twice before letting go. It was only after he knew Foggy was out of earshot that Matt stumbled into the adjoining bathroom to let the panic attack he’d been holding at bay wash over him.

He’d spent a lot of his childhood in hospitals after the accident, caught up in the wave of sounds and smells and only grounded by the sound of his father’s voice. He felt everything so intensely that he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t keep anything down for more than fifteen minutes. They’d had to hook him up to an IV and keep him on a sedative until he was well enough to go home. After Stick got a hold of him, Matt would rather be battered and bruised and splint his own broken wrist with a ruler and duct tape before he went back. The nuns took him anyway after a blow to the back of his head left him so badly concussed that he couldn’t stay conscious for more than an hour at a time. The doctor rebroke his wrist during one of the short periods when he was awake and that was almost worse than waking up blind. Stick laughed when Matt let him touch the cast and the bandages swaddling Matt’s sore head.

“You let them baby you,” he’d said, circling Matt like a vulture. “You were weak. Are you trying to disappoint me?”

Matt’s stomach hurt at the memory. He couldn’t stay standing any longer and slumped to the floor of the bathroom, burying his head in his knees.

Then there was the pneumonia and a fever so high it almost burnt his brain. He awoke after sleeping for almost twenty four hours unable to breathe, with Foggy sitting next to him like a ghost. His lungs were collapsing and they had to stick a needle in his chest to get the fluid out. Foggy wouldn’t leave his side. He slept in the chair next to Matt's bed and told him jokes and read to him when Matt was too tired to read for himself. Matt pretended like he didn't notice Foggy choking down tears at every sentence.

His stomach lurched and he lunged for the toilet, clinging to the edge as all the beer and bile from the night before came rushing up in waves. There wasn’t much in him, not after sleeping for so long, but he spent the next ten minutes dry heaving, his body red hot with panic.

“Matthew?” He should have heard her come in, shouldn’t let her see him curled up on the floor hacking up his guts. He should have at least pretended to be okay.

“Matthew, sweetie, it’s Mrs. Nelson. Can I come in?” She was speaking from the other side of the door and Matt swallowed another heave before responding.

“Just… just a second.” He took a deep breath, filling his lungs in an attempt to crowd out the pain in his belly. _You’re okay. Get it together._ For some reason this voice sounded like Stick’s.

Mrs. Nelson was drawn up to her full five feet two inches when he opened the door. He could feel her breathing against his solar plexus.

“Is everything okay? Where’s Franklin?” She sounded frustrated.

“They took him to get a CAT scan.” God, his breath must smell like a septic tank.

“I got here as quickly as I could. Clearly Franklin isn’t the only one who needs looking after.”

Matt’s face went hot. “No, it’s fine. I’m just a little… uh. I had a little too much to drink last night.”

Mrs. Nelson tutted. “I think I’ve got some Tums in my purse. Come sit down.”

Her presence did not make Matt feel better. In fact, he wanted to stay in the bathroom until the earth was engulfed by the sun.

“Thank you so much for bringing Franklin. I know how you feel about hospitals.”

“You do?” Matt couldn’t recall telling any of Foggy’s family members anything other than the bare minimum about himself. Yes, his father was Battlin’ Jack Murdock. No, he hadn’t always been blind. Sure, more lasagna sounded great.

“Franklin told me. I hope that’s okay. He was worried about you when you were here last winter.”

Matt tried to laugh it off. “Yeah. He spent a week yelling at me.”

“He worries. He’s just like me in that respect. And clearly he wasn’t wrong to. Here.” She pressed two chalky tablets into his palm. “Chew these. They should help your stomach. Do you want some water?”

“No, I’m fine…” he started, but Mrs. Nelson had already passed him a cold plastic bottle.

“Drink. And don’t try to turn on the charm with me because it isn’t going to work.”

“Charm?” Matt took a sip of water, trying desperately to keep up his front.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know how worried you are about Franklin. You don’t need to pretend for my sake.”

Matt wanted to sink into the floor out of shame. Was he really that transparent? Or was Foggy psychoanalyzing Matt to his mother behind his back? Neither was appealing. Thankfully, one of the nurses wheeled Foggy in before Matt could respond. He wished he could somehow nonverbally beg Mrs. Nelson not to tell Foggy he’d spent the last twenty minutes on the bathroom floor, but she was already two steps ahead of him.

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” she said to Foggy, whose fever didn’t feel as high as it had on the way there. “What did the doctor say?”

“I’ve got to wait on the results. Then they’ll tell me if I need surgery or not. You didn’t have to come.”

“I thought I’d keep Matthew company. Don’t want him sitting here all by himself for six hours.” Matt could feel them both looking at him and tried to swallow the urge to throw up again.

“Thanks for that,” he managed, glad he’d kept his glasses on so neither of them could see how puffy his eyes were. Thankfully, Foggy and his mother resumed their conversation and let Matt retreat within himself to gather his wits. He could feel the Tums fizzling in his stomach, more uncomfortable than soothing, and though his initial panic attack had passed, his anxiety was still so high it might as well have continued. He focused on the feeling of his cane in his hands, squeezing it until his knuckles whitened and then releasing, listening to the muscles in his wrists and forearms strain. He wanted to get out. He wanted to sprint back to the dorms and hide under his bed like a tiny child in a thunderstorm. He wanted Foggy to take his shaking hands and hold Matt against his chest and touch his hair in long, smooth strokes until the nausea and rising panic dissipated.

 _No._ Even just thinking about being held made him feel dirty. Mrs. Nelson had no idea how touch-starved Matt was, how every innocent contact made his whole body light up like a Christmas tree. Foggy was far softer and more tactile than the nuns or his father or Stick, always holding Matt’s arm gently in one hand as they crossed the street or pressing his hand to the small of Matt’s back to steady him when they stumbled drunkenly back to the dorms. Every point of contact felt like a kiss. Matt tried not to think about the actual kisses. They felt too sacred to bring into the hospital.

The orderly didn’t return for another hour. Mrs. Nelson must have gotten up and sat back down a dozen times, unable to stay in her chair for longer than a few minutes. She spoke with everyone in scrubs that passed, left for a few minutes and returned with coffee that reeked of death to Matt’s sensitive nose, and kept digging through her purse as if looking for something to entertain herself. Matt was secretly grateful for her fidgeting; it gave him something to focus on rather than his sore stomach and pounding head. Foggy, on the other hand, was at his wit’s end.

“Ma!” he eventually said after Mrs. Nelson flagged down another orderly. “It’s fine. We can wait.”

“You’re in pain. Shouldn’t they at least give you something?”

“Not until I’m out of surgery. If I even need surgery. So would you please sit down and relax?”

“How am I supposed to relax when my child is in pain?”

Foggy sighed. “I don’t know. Other people manage it somehow.”

“Am I embarrassing you?” Mrs. Nelson sounded hurt and Foggy backpedaled.

“Of course not. In front of who? Matt already knows what you’re like in these situations.”

“He thinks I’m being reasonable, don’t you Matthew?”

Matt, who’d been attempting to meditate away his panic, broke away from his own thoughts. “Yeah. I think it’s normal to be worried about you.” He could practically hear Foggy rolling his eyes.

“Dunno why I’d expect the guy destroying his own mental health to be here to back me up.”

That hurt. Was he that obviously uncomfortable? Was Foggy so resentful that he didn’t want Matt to stay at all? Should he just go? Matt’s face heated in shame just as the doctor and orderly returned with Foggy’s CAT scan results. Mrs. Nelson jumped to her feet.

“Finally! What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?”

The doctor flipped through the packet of papers in his hands. Matt heard his heartbeat spike.“Looks like you’ve got appendicitis. We’ll have to get you into surgery as soon as possible.”

“That bad?” Foggy’s voice was flat. He sounded more annoyed than nervous.

“There’s no impending threat of your appendix bursting, but if left untreated it’s almost certain to occur. The sooner we get it out, the easier your healing process will be.”

“Then let’s get it over with.” Matt’s heart sank. Foggy wasn’t annoyed with being in the hospital. He was annoyed with Matt. How could he not be? Foggy didn’t want Matt to stay and Matt stayed anyway. How could he have been so selfish? He should have just left Foggy alone once his mother got there. He should go. He should try to find a place to stay for the winter holiday. He should…

“We’ll be able to perform the surgery in an hour. Is that alright?” The doctor was still talking, but Foggy said nothing. Matt assumed he was nodding.

“We’ll bring you into another room shortly so you can meet with the anesthesiologist.”

“Okay.”

The doctor left and Foggy and his mother started talking again but, Matt was having trouble focusing on the conversation. His heart was beating so quickly, another panic attack looming on the fringes of his mind. His mouth started to taste like pennies again. _Breathe. Breathe._

“Matt?” This came from Foggy. “You okay?”

Matt’s fingers were aching. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping his cane. “I’m fine.”

“Mom got up to talk to the front desk about our insurance. The doctor just left. You kinda spaced out there for a minute.”

“Oh.”

“C’mere.”

Matt scooted his chair closer to the bed before curling back up in on himself. Foggy didn’t want to touch him, why would he? Matt was nothing but a selfish, weak little prick who wouldn’t listen and always chose wrong and put himself before everyone else. Why would anyone want to touch him, why would anyone even want to be near him? He was garbage. He heard Foggy shift in bed and for a brief, terrifying moment, Matt thought Foggy was going to hit him. He’d never done it before, but Matt deserved it. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Foggy reached over and Matt flinched.

“Matty? Can I touch you?”

“I don’t know why you’d want to,” Matt mumbled to the floor.

“Because you’re my friend and I love you and we both need comforting right now? I won’t if you don’t want me to.” Foggy wasn’t lying. His voice was as clear and honest as always. Matt nodded.

“It’s okay.”

Foggy peeled Matt’s fingers away from the cane. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Matt’s abdominals relaxed. “What?”

“I’m sorry I said what I did before. It wasn’t fair. You’re only trying to help. I appreciate you being here.”

Matt listened hard for the telltale flutter of Foggy’s lying heart. It wasn’t there. “You do?”

“Of course I do! You hate hospitals and you took me to one anyway because you didn’t want me to suffer. You stayed here because you didn’t want me to be alone. I just … I got worried. You look so scared, Matt. I don’t want you to be scared because of me.”

“I ... “ Matt didn’t know what to say. Foggy was always so much better at being honest than he was. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you. You’re such a good person to have around in a crisis.”

Matt felt like this was a gross overstatement, but he didn’t say it out loud. “Thank you.”

“C’mere. Lean forward a little.”

Matt obeyed and felt Foggy’s fingers trace his hairline and cheekbones, gentle as lips. His heart rate slowed. It was dangerous for someone to have such a physical effect on him, but he was allowed one exception. Foggy’s thumb traced his jaw and the line of his neck and he sighed.

“I really don’t want to do this.”

“I know.” Matt kissed Foggy’s palm, then his wrist. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”


End file.
